The cogent sound of the grinder and the sharp smell of the spicy sauce wafted across the kitchen. While Nana cut the cherry tomatoes I hated for her authentic Italian pasta. Dangling my feet down the kitchen counter, I turned another page of the magazine where faces of handsome models were portrayed. This was the best a twelve years old could do to pass her boring time. Well, they were… what the girls in my class called them again? Yes, hot! "What're you ogling at those half naked men, girl?" Nana asked, glancing at me from the corner of her aged eyes. "I'm not ogling! Just looking. And why not? They're handsome, and… hot!" Her nose scrunched hearing my reply. "Good God! Where did you learn that word, young lady? And those men," she said, taking the magazine from my hand, "there is nothing beautiful about them. They look like some hair
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